unbidden
by coffee-not-decaf
Summary: Merlin knows its Arthur because it's always Arthur, isn't it?


Waking up is the worst part of Merlin's day.

Waking up is when the images spring into his head unbidden without warning, fast and furious, colors blurring as he lurches forward, still unaware to the act of being conscious, let alone having his cells lit on fire. Hot and heavy, worlds spinning, crashing, colliding –

And he's no longer lodged inside his own mind, he's running down a grey, metallic hallway, yelling for something, someone, to help him with the rotator cuff, and what the hell is a rotator cuff, but it doesn't matter, because he has to keep running.

There's a flash of blond beside him that makes Merlin think of sunlight, of golden sand and blue water, of a smiling grin –

He doesn't scream as he jolts into the next world, the next life, where he awakens sitting on a beach towel, wearing black swim trunks, the tips of his fingers wet with salty ocean spray, and there's a beautiful blond man next to him with eyes that match the waves crashing down around them, eyes that crinkle as he grins up at Merlin and leans over, and Merlin is struck with a lightning bolt that says he loves this man –

Merlin didn't want to spring out of that life, not yet, but a sword clashed into his head, slicing the man in two, blood streaming out the wound in his head –

That's not the world on the beach, though, because Merlin is kneeling in a dark, dank cave watching the blond man die, blood seeping from every orifice of his armor-clad body, armor that is heavy on Merlin's own chest as he cards his hand through the man's hair, tears in on his eyes and an unknown name on his lips.

"Arthur…"

An eternity lasts before the universe splits again, because a blue bird chirping sat in Merlin's mind's eye, so that's where he went, to the top of a the tallest tree in the land, a great and mighty oak that looked upon every kingdom there ever was, and an achingly familiar voices calls out to him.

"Merlin, what are you doing up there?"

And Merlin knows its Arthur because it's always Arthur, isn't it? He tries to call back but his throat can't quite form the words, and he wonders if he can fly down to him –

When he jumps, it's not into warm and welcome arms, but out of an airplane hundreds of feet in the dark and stormy sky, and without looking or feeling as the wind rushes up into him at top speed, he knows that he has no parachute, just as surely as he knows that Arthur is plummeting to his death right beside him, just as he always is and always will be –

He's only seconds before hitting the ground when the universe shifts to reality, with Merlin back in his bedroom, navy blue walls and air conditioner humming in the background, because it needs fixing and Merlin forgot to call his landlord about it.

Willing his mind not to wander, because a wandering mind is what leads to him falling through infinite universes in the first place, and ignoring his throbbing head, Merlin prepares for the day. He thinks only of groceries and rugby, not of dragons and dueling, or spaceships flying overhead, or horses on a dusty, well-trodden path.

He doesn't jump worlds again until lunch, where he visits a world of colorful plants; a princess locked away in a tower; a tiger in Antarctica; and nothing without Arthur, never without Arthur and his crinkling eyes and wide smile, before he lands back in his own feet in his life of mundane – but even mundane is an improvement upon this constant moving, ever shifting reality.

Unbidden imagery caves his mind in, bends it inside out, rearranges the mess in Merlin's mind, just as it always has and always will. It can never change.

But when Merlin counts his steps as he walks down London's rainy streets, _one, two, three, _determinedly thinking of nothing at all, he crashes headlong into a stranger –

Images flooded his mind, castles and quests, angels and demons, cascades of color and an underworld of darkness, but he stays firmly in his head, in place, in his life, and Merlin can't breathe because this has never happened before, never, not once since his mind started traveling to the distant reaches of the galaxies.

When his eyes open up and get a look at the unfortunate, run-over stranger, he knows why. Blond hair and crinkling eyes and a smile he's known for a thousand years, but now, here, he has time because he's not falling, he's flying. He can see broad shoulders and crooked teeth and long limbs, and Merlin doesn't know if he should laugh or smile or cry or scream or sing or dance or sob.

"You – You're the one I see," Merlin's voice is cracking and breathless; he sounds like a lunatic and he doesn't care. Arthur appears confused, as he should, because Merlin is too, and they've never met even though Arthur has been Merlin's constant companion and only friend in a thousand other lives, a thousand other worlds.

"Arthur. I think I've been waiting for you."


End file.
